Never Saw It Coming
by starmiee
Summary: When Ron doesn't show up to his wedding to Hermione, an ancient wizarding law takes effect. To Hermione's horror, she finds herself married to... Read and find out! Work in progress. Mild DH spoilers.
1. Full of Promise

Author's Note: This is my first real fanfic, so I hope you enjoy. Feedback would be awesome!

Disclaimer: I play with JKR's toys.

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Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror. She twirled, holding out the sides of her robes so that they cascaded over her arms to the floor. Never in her life did she think she would be this pretty—especially on the day she married her true love.

"Ginny," Hermione called over her shoulder. "Ginny, do you know if Ron and Harry have arrived yet? How much time do I have?"

Ginny poked her head in from the hallway. "I haven't seen either of them, but I'm sure they're almost here. All the guests are in their seats."

Hermione sighed. This day was turning out even better than she expected. The Burrow was hung with swags of red and gold—every surface seemed to be sparkling as much as her wedding gown. Guests had arrived from all corners of the globe-- Hermione's parents had just gotten back from another extended vacation in Australia. Looking out the window, Hermione could see them sitting in the front row of the seats that had been set out in the Weasley's garden, chatting with Mr and Mrs Weasley over the aisle. Everyone seemed so happy these days.

"Hermione, we really need to go downstairs. Professor Flitwick is starting to look anxious." Ginny opened the door wide, looking radiant in scarlet dress robes that clashed magnificently with her hair. Flitwick had agreed to officiate the ceremony, which was modeled after a very traditional wizarding custom. In fact, the actual marriage contract had been set into motion months before, and Hermione and Ron had been strictly observing rituals and counseling sessions with Flitwick ever since. The ceremony today would be the final step—the permanent cementing of their bonds together—the step that would bring together all the preparations before. This was serious business.

With a quick glance in the mirror, Hermione made sure her bushy hair was still twined into Aunt Muriel's tiara. Ron liked her hair in its natural state, and Hermione was all too happy to oblige him. It really was so much easier not to have to worry about extraneous beauty nonsense on a day like today, after all. Really, it just meant that Hermione had more concentration to spare for things like navigating two flights of stairs in three-inch heels.

Hermione stepped into the kitchen. "I really hope Ron gets here soon, otherwise this whole idea of a super-traditional wizarding wedding is going to get out of hand," she said. Even with the radiance of a bride, Hermione was starting to look worried.

Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione with a motherly cluck. "Oh honey, you know it'll turn out just fine. Ron's bound to be nervous. He probably can't remember how to tie his shoes."

Flitwick turned from the doorway, where he was looking for signs of Harry and Ron. "Don't worry, Hermione," he said, "You'll get married today. You can be sure of that."

There was a loud CRACK, and Flitwick turned back to check if Ron had apparated in. Except it wasn't Ron—it was Harry, and Flitwick went flying, tumbling head over heels until he came to rest under Mrs Weasley's clock.

"Harry!" Ginny ran to him, but Harry ducked out of her hug and avoided her kiss. He headed straight to Hermione, who was looking around wildly for Ron.

"He's not here," Harry said as he charged up the stairs. "Well, not yet. He's had a bit of a mishap, but he'll be along shortly. The yard stirred as the wedding guests heard him thundering up five flights of stairs, pause—as though looking for something in Ron's bedroom—and with a clatter flew down again, obviously concealing something in his robes. Flashing a quick grin, he grabbed the pot of Floo powder from the side of the fireplace, and shot "Excuse me while I go rescue your fiancé" at a very shocked-looking Hermione on the way back out the door.

Harry disapparated, leaving Flitwick, Ginny and Hermione staring confusedly at each other.


	2. Other Measures

Author's Note: This is my very first fanfic, so I hope you enjoy it. The chapters are turning out to be quite short, so I'm trying to fix that. Please review, I would love to know what you think.

Disclaimer: I play with JK Rowling's toys.

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Silence hung thick in the kitchen. With Ron and Harry both gone, how was anyone to be sure that they would get back in time for the wedding. Flitwick had made it clear to both Ron and Hermione that once the wedding was set in motion, it had to be seen through in a timely fashion. Apparently wizarding weddings had a timetable—Hermione was still trying to puzzle this one out. Perhaps the charms were too strong to be kept going for an indefinite period of time. Their wedding had been scheduled to start at 1pm, and fifteen minutes had passed since then. They still had inside of an hour to make sure all was well.

"Professor? What happens if Ron doesn't come back soon? What if he's delayed?" Hermione looked at Flitwick, hoping he could answer her every question.

Flitwick glanced over his shoulder at the door, seemingly hoping that Ron would walk through announcing his readiness. When nothing of the sort happened, he sighed and said, "We'll worry about that when it comes down to it, won't we, Miss Granger."

At that news, Hermione paced wildly around the table, her hands wrinkling the front of her dress. Ginny hurried over to take her hands, to save at least some of Hermione's favorite ball gown dress robes thing. The two girls huddled together, Ginny looking furious; Hermione was trying to shake back sobs.

Seconds passed, then minutes. The ticking of the clock was the only sound that seemed to echo off of every cabinet and windowpane.

Suddenly, with a crash of emerald light, Harry stepped out of the fireplace. Hermione jumped around, looking wildly at him, willing him to speak some news of her fiancé, or at least what was going on.

Harry looked wildly out of breath, and a bit pale. "Ron is coming. He's splinched himself. He's fine." Harry looked pointedly at Hermione, who was now leaning on the table for support—between the stress of planning a wedding and the utter calamity of a missing groom, she looked ready for a vacation to Bora-Bora. "In the meantime," he continued, "We'd best keep going with the wedding, get ready and stuff."

"Right." Ginny straightened up and took Hermione by the hand. "We need to get outside. I suppose Ron will be Flooing?" She looked at Harry for confirmation. He nodded. Dragging Hermione behind her, Ginny headed outside, toward the back of the garden, where she and Hermione would wait before coming up the aisle for the ceremony.

Hermione's face was still pale. "Do you think that he could have backed out?" She enquired of Ginny, clasping her hand so tightly that Ginny's fingernails were turning blue.

The thought had not occurred to Ginny before this. She knew Ron could be indecisive and nerve-wracked, but for him to leave Hermione at their wedding? That would be unthinkable. Still, it would make sense for him to get back as soon as possible, and he didn't seem to be coming through the fireplace at all.

"Hermione, wait here," Ginny demanded. "I'll be right back." As fast as she could, Ginny ran back toward the house. She had to make sure that this wedding would be going through unscathed.

"Harry!" Ginny rounded the doorpost into the kitchen, nearly screaming. "Harry, he isn't running, is he?" Harry looked up, rather lazily. He didn't seem at all perturbed by this series of events. In fact, he looked as though he could care less.

"Oh, you know Weas—Ron," he said. "He'll probably be considering the possibility right now. Splinched, right."

Ginny looked horrified. "But the wedding has to start any minute," she said.

Flitwick looked up from where he had been sitting at the table and examined his watch. "This is true, Miss Weasley," he said. "We have exactly ten minutes to begin the ceremony. If Mr Weasley doesn't show up within three, we'll have to take other measures."

"What are these _other measures_?" Ginny asked. Things were not looking good for this day, although it had started with so much promise.

"Well," Flitwick looked suddenly nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "According to bylaw 34.5a of the Wizarding Marriage Contract, if the groom does not appear within the time specified within the contract of his marriage, the groom's second, that is, the best man, is required by a binding magical contract which he entered into when he agreed to secondship to step in for the groom."

Ginny and Harry looked at each other. "Does…does that mean what I think it does?" Harry asked in a quavering voice.

Flitwick squeaked. "Yes," he said. "And most unfortunately, there is no way around this law. Historical reasons, you know." He looked ready to duck under the table to escape the dark looks emanating from the two younger wizards.

With a rustle of ruffles and stamps of feet, Hermione burst through the door. "WHERE IS RONALD?!" She nearly screamed, "AND WHY AM I NOT MARRIED RIGHT NOW?"


	3. A Second Harry

Author's Note: Thanks, everybody who commented, you guys are awesome! I'll try to get chapters up in a timely manner, but more comments mean people like this story, so I'll get them up quicker.

Disclaimer: JKR's toys. This'll be the last time I'll say this, I think. It's pretty well established.

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The group in the kitchen could hear murmuring outside in the garden. Many of the guests were standing up, craning to get a better view through the windows. George fished in his pockets, eventually pulling out a long flesh-colored string.

"Er…There are five minutes left. We must begin quickly," Flitwick said. He opened his notes and began inching out of the kitchen toward the arbor in the garden. "There are consequences if we do not."

"What kind of consequences?" Harry asked. He looked positively petrified.

"Are you familiar with the Unbreakable Vow?" Flitwick flicked a quick glance at the group, but continued without waiting for an answer. "The consequences are the same. Death, essentially."

Ginny took Harry's hand. "But the Ministry can't make anyone just keel over dead, can they?"

"Oh no," Flitwick said, "But the Magical Binding Contract that was put into effect when Hermione and Ron became engaged can. Are we going to continue or not? I would hate to see any of you die today."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in horror. "Wha—what do you mean, death?" She sputtered.

"No time now," Flitwick said, dragging Harry out of his chair. "We have to get this over with. We'll sort it all out later." He took Hermione's hand and laid it on top of Harry's, muttering an incantation. Hermione was turning red—it almost looked like steam was coming out of her ears. Harry's eyes were wide, his mouth opening and closing without making a sound. Ginny looked ready to kill.

Nevertheless, Flitwick plunged ahead with the ceremony, taking Hermione's "What's going on?" and Harry's "Buh—buh—but…" to mean "Yes" and "I do." George had reported what was happening to the crowd outside, which promptly crowded around the window, Mr and Mrs Weasley and Mr and Mrs Granger in front, gaping. There were many flutterings and whispers among the crowd—this was surely a day that would go down in Weasley family history.

Forcibly insisting that Hermione and Harry exchange rings, Flitwick attempted a weak smile. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss." Hermione could have burned his ears off with the look she gave him.

The silence that filled the room was deafening. Nothing moved. It was like time itself stopped. The absolute horror of what had just happened was just beginning to sink in everyone's mind—even the crowd outside, those old enough to know about the Ministry's Marriage Laws, were beginning to understand what had happened.

Harry and Hermione stood frozen, their hands still clasped together where Flitwick had held them, the remains of a glowing spell entangling their fingers. Hermione had paled to the color of snow, and Harry looked as if he was about to pass out.

"Will somebody tell me what just happened?" Hermione asked, her voice low and filled with danger.

Flitwick eyed Hermione and said, "Essentially, Ron chickened out, and according to the Magical Binding Contract between you, Harry had to step in. There was nothing I could do."

Hermione and Harry still did not move. It was as if they felt that if they didn't move, time would reverse itself and Ron would come wooshing through the fireplace just in time.

Ginny broke the silence. "I can't believe this. I was going to marry you, Harry. It was going to be amazing, and then my idiot brother had to go and mess it up. I'm not sure he did. I always wondered if you loved Hermione more than me. And now you have your chance, I suppose. You engineered this, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!"

Harry trembled. "Ginny, I—"

"I KNOW YOU ALWAYS LOVED HERMIONE! AT VERY LEAST YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME! WHAT AM I, A PICKLED HERRING?! A PAWN, TO BE SHUNTED ASIDE THE MOMENT YOU SAW YOUR FREE MOMENT WITH YOUR TWOO LUV?! I KNEW YOU COULD BE IMMATURE, BUT THIS! THIS IS THE MOST RIDICULOUS—"

With a flash of green, Ron Weasley stepped out of the fireplace with a grin on his face, stunning Ginny into silence. Mrs Weasley burst into tears. Flitwick let out a small "Oh."

Ron stopped. "Why is everyone so quiet?" He looked at Hermione inquiringly.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione gasped.

Ron's gaze fell to Hermione's hand, which was still clasped in Harry's. "What's going on?" The grin fell off his face, onto the floor, where it spread in a puddle over his shoes.

"Will someone please explain why my fiancée is holding hands with—with…" Ron looked like he was ready to vomit.

Harry swallowed loudly, then said, "When you didn't show up in time, Wizard law went into effect. The best man had to fill in for the groom."

If Ron paled any more, he would look transparent. "But you're not my best man," he said, looking pointedly at Harry.

"I know," Harry said. "But somehow it didn't matter."

A second flash of light filled the room, hailing an unexpected Floo-guest. Everyone in the room turned to the fireplace as a second Harry Potter stepped onto the hearth.

* * *

Duhn duhn duhhhnnnn... what will we do with two Harrys? Tune in next time to hear Hermione scream "DO NOT WANT," or something like that. 

Pleeeease review, so I can do better next time!


	4. Draco's Tale

Author's Note: Thank you guys for all the reviews! It's so awesome hearing your feedback. This chapter is a bit longer (and the next will be even longer than this one) so I hope you enjoy.

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As Harry Potter dusted off his dress robes, uproar ensued. Mrs Weasley stopped crying and barged into the kitchen, ready to fend off an unwanted intruder. Grasping the hilarity of the situation, Ginny began laughing hysterically—she knew there was a good chance that it wasn't her Harry that had been taken off the market. Hermione's legs gave out from under her and she collapsed onto the floor, pulling the first Harry down with her.

Ron alone was looking ill, much like the day in second year when his curse backfired, filling his stomach with slugs. You could see the gears in his head turning, sorting out the situation.

Harry-on-the-floor stood up. Harry-on-the-hearth took a deep breath. They looked at each other and grinned, despite the circumstances. Harry-on-the-hearth reached inside his robe and extracted a small flask, which he placed on the mantle. He looked at his watch.

"Actually," Harry-on-the-hearth said, "I'm the real Harry Potter." Harry-on-the-floor nodded in confirmation.

"How can we be sure?" A voice carried from the back of the room, possibly George's. Most of the wedding guests had moved inside with all the kerfuffle and were now standing in tight knots, discussing the unusual scene before them.

"Um," said Harry, checking his watch again, "Just wait a minute."

Hermione, from her spot on the floor, looked carefully from Ron to Harry-on-the-hearth to Harry-on-the-floor. She had a little gleam of understanding in her eye. But, however she thought the situation might be turning out for her, it did not look favorable.

"Who are you?" She said, turning to scrutinize Harry-on-the-floor. "Who exactly did I marry?"

Harry-on-the-floor opened his mouth to answer her question, when Harry-on-the-hearth said, "Time's about up. I don't think you drank a full dose, anyway."

Hermione seemed on the verge of giving both Harrys a piece of her mind, when she glanced back over at Harry-on-the-floor, except he was no longer Harry. His wild black hair was lengthening, becoming sleeker and lighter. Green eyes melted into gray. The lightning scar disappeared into an increasingly pale face. Harry's slight build grow into a lankier, more elegant frame. Finally, Draco Malfoy stood before Hermione. He smirked.

"WHAT!" Hermione shrieked, scrambling to her feet. "THIS HAS GOT TO BE SOME SORT OF SICK JOKE!"

"You think I planned this, Granger?" Draco said, looking a bit paler than usual. His smirk softened into a look that was almost blank—it hid all possible emotion. "But I must say, I'm not entirely adverse."

A violent cough emanated from the edge of the hearth, where Ron stood drooping. His face had turned the color of putty, and his hands were shaking so hard that he dropped the bag of Floo powder he had been holding. His brain was beginning to process the full reality of the circumstances. He said, in a quiet voice, "Hermione?"

"I don't know, Ron." Hermione was still trembling. She had long since let go of Draco's hand, and was once again twisting the front of her dress into knots. "I don't know what just happened. I mean, I know. But I don't know. We'll have to go to the Ministry on Monday to get it all sorted out, I suppose."

"Monday? That's so far away."

"I know, but nobody's going to be there now. I don't think there's anything else we can do."

Ron offered his hand to Hermione and helped her off the floor. Hands clasped tightly together, they moved to the door. A path opened amidst the crowd still watching intently in the kitchen.

"Hold on," a voice drawled from the hearth. "Weasley, where are you going with my wife?"

Ron turned--some wall of self-control inside him snapped as he did so. His eyes grew wild. He flew at Draco, covering the length of the kitchen in two steps. Fists flailing, he resembled a giant flying tomato as he bore down on the paling Draco, determined to pound every inch of his flesh to a pulp for daring to insinuate such a thing as _marriage, _especially to Hermione.

Harry and George leapt at Ron, immediately pinning his arms to his sides. Ron was practically frothing at the mouth, struggling against his jailers and looking to kill.

"Ron," Harry muttered, "Ron, calm down. This isn't going to help anything."

"Hecantmarryhermionenoo," was Ron's reply.

After being talked to by Harry and petted by Hermione, Ron eventually consented to being led away by Ginny and George to his room, where he could take out his frustrations in peace.

&

When Ginny returned, the crowd had thinned, giving those left in the kitchen some measure of privacy. Hermione had sunk to the floor again, her poofy dress squishing like a marshmallow all around her. Draco and Harry were still standing awkwardly on the hearth, occasionally glancing at each other as if trying to find a way to explain the situation.

Ginny pulled a chair from under the table and sat down. She folded her hands together, and looked as though she couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. In a quiet voice, she said, "Will one of you boys please explain how we got into this mess?"

Draco and Harry each grabbed chairs and sat down as well. Hermione continued to stare into the fire, as if it held all the answers she was looking for. The sun was beginning to set, and long shadows danced on the floor in front of the hearth, playing in the frothy lace of the wedding dress.

Draco sighed. "It goes something like this," he said. "After the war, my family holed up together, repairing the Manor and our dignity. For a while, it was great—I could pretend that everything was well, that we could be a true family again. But I realized that it wasn't going to happen. So I left. I went and lived abroad. I studied, and encountered many different kinds of wizarding ways. I even made some friends.

"When I got back, I realized that I was never going to be able to venerate my father like I once had. My outlook on life had been fundamentally changed, and try as I might, I couldn't get back into the swing of things. It was worse living at home then than when I had started.

"Eventually I realized I was lonely. I needed some friends here, friends who weren't suckups or complete idiots. The only person I could think of who fit that description is Harry." Draco stretched his arms across the table, into nothing. He glanced at Harry, who took up the tale.

"When Draco contacted me, I thought for sure he was still harboring an old grudge, and was out to get me. But I met him, and eventually I realized that he was for real. We started hanging out and going to Quidditch matches—becoming real buddies. Ron knew about our friendship, and didn't like it much, but he didn't try to interfere." Harry ran his hand through his hair and glanced at Ginny, who had figured out this odd friendship some months before. Although she trusted Harry's judgment, she questioned the validity of Draco's sudden friendship.

Draco shifted in his chair so he was speaking to Hermione. She had still not looked up, but the cock of her head indicated that she was listening. He continued, "Today, this morning, I was at Harry's apartment to teach him how to make that complicated tie-knot you wanted the groomsmen to wear. Ron arrived shortly before they were to depart for the wedding, but he had splinched himself. Harry wanted to inform all of you here that Ron would be along shortly, but he didn't want to leave Ron, as he was close to passing out from nervousness. He gave me some of his emergency stash of Polyjuice to make sure I could come inform you of the circumstances. He didn't think it prudent that a Malfoy come barging in on a Weasley wedding. And, well…you know the rest. I ended up married to you."

The end of Draco's speech signaled silence in the kitchen. The sun was completely down now, leaving the kitchen bathed in pale blue offset by the warmth emanating from the fireplace. Hermione looked up, right at Draco.

"That's fine," she said, looking anything other than fine. "But we're still going to the ministry."


	5. Meeting at the Ministry

Monday morning dawned bright and clear; its perfection and sunshininess almost seemed to mock the inhabitants of the Burrow. Draco had slept in the sitting room that night, or rather was forced to by Harry and Ron, so that he couldn't run off in the night and leave Hermione to sort out the Marriage Fiasco on her own. Draco looked rather grumpy at having to sleep on a sofa, but that was to be expected. He did not, however, flinch when Hermione entered the room, dressed in gray pinstriped robes.

"Are you ready?" She looked directly at Draco, as if in a challenge. "I want to get there as early as possible. That way we have a better chance of getting this mess over with in one day." Hermione looked as though she had not slept at all. It definitely had not been the wedding night of her dreams. Her wedding had been the one un-practical dream she allowed herself. She had wanted it to be perfect in every way—a witch only got married once in her life, after all. When she finally realized that Ron cared for her the way she cared for him, her dreams almost took on a life of their own, planning every detail of her perfect day, from her dress to the kind of sheets on the bed that night.

With the events of the previous day, more had been wrecked than her future with the man of her dreams (or as nearly as her dreams could come to reality). Her day, her one day of happiness and freedom from analytical thought, her one luxury that she wouldn't bother budgeting--her day had been completely obliterated. She was determined to get it back, at least a semblance of the life she had been planning. One day's mess wasn't going to ruin her future. Or at least that's what she told herself.

Hermione had stayed up all night studying, or rather looking through all the books in the Weasley residence hoping for any shred, and scrap of information on Ancient Wizarding Law. Unfortunately, Arthur Weasley's obsession lay in Muggle artifacts, so the majority of books in the Weasley household were borrowed from the local Muggle bookshop. Hermione had racked her brain for every type of logic she could find thinking of how to get around the technicalities of this supposed binding for life, especially since she was married to a different man than she had begun preparations with. Unable to think of anything useful, Hermione spend the remaining hours mulling over which employees of the Ministry of Magic she could bribe or beg to make things right. The sinking feeling in her stomach, however, made her think that this really was a deep bit of magic, that not even Dumbledore could reverse, were he still alive.

So naturally, Hermione was in no mood to be toyed with that morning when she collected Draco. All three men in the room recoiled slightly at her entrance, but recovered quickly enough to jump into action. Draco leaped up from the couch, attempting to brush the wrinkles out of his dress robes whilst simultaneously combing his hair with his fingers. Ron stood a bit taller, as if to break the bonds of the marriage with his courage. And, quite oddly, Harry smirked.

Hermione strode to the fireplace and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder. She wasn't fit to apparate, because of her mental state. When Ron made a move for a grab at the Floo powder also, Hermione jerked his hand away. "No," she said. "You are not a part of this problem. Malfoy and I are the married ones, it should be us who sort out the problem. I'll come back as soon as we've sorted it out, and maybe we can get remarried tomorrow." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, as a reassurance of her feelings.

"Alright," said Ron.

"I still love you, okay?" Hermione looked up at her fiancé. "Just because I'm married to _him_ doesn't change my feelings for you."

Ron looked mutinous, but swept Hermione up in a kiss. The two almost got completely lost in each other when Draco drawled, "Let's get this over with." He strode to the fireplace, knocking into the unhappy couple, breaking them apart. Shouting "Ministry of Magic!" Draco stepped into the emerald fireplace.

Hermione followed, still making eyes at Ron as she walked backward into the fireplace. Unfortunately, this posture caused her to back into Draco in the foyer of the Ministry.

"Hey now, just because we're married doesn't mean you can walk all over me," Draco smirked, but this was a smirk tempered with an air of amusement, not disdain. Whatever Hermione wanted to think, she could not deny that Draco's story from the night before rang true. His actions, while just as fluid and elegantly bred as always, seemed performed less out of malice.

But this was of no matter to Hermione. She had one thing on her mind, and that was to persuade, badger or con the Ministry into getting a divorce. She set off down the atrium at a brisk walk, indicating for Draco to follow with a slight indication of her head.

The Ministry's atrium had once been one of Hermione's favorite places to stop and stare. Since the war, it had been cleaned and repaired to be better than it had been before. The familiar golden fireplaces still lined the walls but shone greater than before, and the peacock-blue ceiling seemed to have a deeper magnificence. In center, where once the Fountain of Magical Brethren stood before it was destroyed and after than the dark symbol of Magic is Might, a new fountain had been erected. It was carved of pure white marble, with the same magical creatures that stood on the former golden statue. The centaur, goblin and house elf, however, were not looking to the witch and wizard for guidance, but instead all the figures were placed in harmony, in mutual respect and admiration. The statue was a memorial for the lives lost in the war against Voldemort.

Hermione had never quite forgiven the Ministry for the new statue. The betrayal that the Ministry had showed to the Order of the Phoenix stung Hermione to the core. She had always considered it the Ministry's duty to uphold the Right. And when the Ministry had quietly torn down the old statue before Kingsley could take control, with not so much as an apology, Hermione had more than she could take. The new statue, for her, was a reminder and a mourning for not only the lives lost during the war, but the integrity lost, and the respect lost in Hermione's eyes, even though she decided it was best to work there, even to build it back up to the institution it should be.

When they reached the Visitor's desk, Draco stopped her with an outstretched arm. "I don't work here," he said. Hermione waited while he presented his wand to the seedy-looking wizard behind the desk. He had never gotten his wand back after Harry's fateful battle with Voldemort. The strain of the magic that was demanded of it broke the wand cleanly in half. Harry had apologized, later, not that it made any difference. "Don't worry about it," Draco had said to him, "There wasn't any other way to defeat him." Draco's new wand was of the same Hawthorne wood as his old one, but with a Dragon-heartstring core. It was made for him by a student of Gregorovitch's he had encountered on his travels.

As Draco took his wand back, Hermione glanced at her watch. "We have an appointment with Charley Bentencourt at 8.30," she said. "I sent Kingsley an owl yesterday, and he put us on her schedule as an emergency."

The couple set off toward the elevators at a brisk pace, as if anything that lay before them was better than they could imagine.

&

Charley Bentencourt's office was plain, yet comforting—very fitting for her position as Head of the Department for Domestic Cooperation. Draco and Hermione sat on squashy armchairs in front of her desk, as she scanned through Kingsley's note.

"So," she said, pushing her glasses up her long nose, "Ms Grang—er, Mrs Malfoy, will you please tell me the events of the wedding?"

Hermione bristled at the sound of the name, but explained in great detail what had happened, about the mix-up and the time crunch and all that had gone wrong with her day. She was miraculously calm; the only signs of her inner distress came from one hand, its fingers twisting themselves into knots over and over again.

Charley made a great show of listening. She nodded her head at all the right times, making copious notes on the blotter that covered her desk. Occasionally she would look at Draco as if to verify, "Is this correct?" He would only nod in return. Hermione's narrative, of course, was flawlessly accurate. Draco had been silent since his terse "Which floor?" in the elevator before punching the button to the 5th floor.

When Hermione came to the end, Charley looked once again at Draco and said, "Is there anything else you would like to add, Mr Malfoy?"

"No." Draco shook his head. Hermione couldn't help but notice how gorgeous his hair was, glinting under the soft light of the office. The, abruptly, she wondered just why an office in the Ministry of Magic had dim lights—the though slipped out of her head as quickly as it formed.

"Are you unhappy with this marriage also?" Charley asked.

"No," said Draco, glancing at Hermione. "No, I'm not. I don't mind it."

Hermione gasped, aghast. The look on her face told him everything—that she couldn't understand how he had changed, that she couldn't fathom that he didn't find her as repulsive as she found him, that she had assumed that he wanted this marriage dissolved as much as she had.

"Well, I don't know how much I can do," Charley said, rifling through the parchment on her desk. She found the one she was looking for, an ancient-looking scroll with lots of filigree around the edges. Adjusting her glasses to peer at it, she continued, "Wizarding marriages only rarely end in divorce. We make it clear to both parties involved that this is more than just a celebration of their feelings for each other. A wizarding marriage is a magical binding contract, a very firm contract that only allows for the separation of the parties involved in very specific instances, such as infidelity."

Hermione's hands were gripping the arm of her chair now, so tightly that her fingers were turning white.

"We must also take into consideration," Charley spoke without taking a breath, "the particular nature of the marriage ceremony you, Mrs Malfoy, chose to enact. You chose a very ancient set of vows, full of meaning and deep magic. Much of this magic dates back from before even Hogwarts was founded. It is irreversible, unchangeable and final. All the clauses and conditions of the contract must be observed. There is simply no other option."

"So there's no way to reverse the marriage?" Hermione seemed to cling to a last shred of hope—perhaps one more question would be enough to change the inevitable verdict.

"No, dear. I'm sorry. You're on your own now." Charley shuffled the papers on her desk, looking vaguely sorry herself at having to share the bad news. "You must remember that all clauses of the marriage contract will be in effect now, everything from mutual protection spells—that's a protection against domestic violence—to spells ensuring that you'll have a long and happy life together. I'm sure, once you two get to know each other better, that you'll get along just fine. Just let life sort itself out. Lemon drop?"

Charley offered the bowl of bright yellow candy a little too cheerfully. Draco took one, but Hermione only shook her head brusquely. She stood up, pushed back her chair and gestured at Draco to follow her. Before she stepped out into the hall, she turned around.

'Thank you, Ms Bentencourt, for all your…help."

* * *

Uh-oh...how will Hermione react to this news? More importantly, how will Ron take it? Tune in next time for catastrophe!

Pleeeeease review. I will love you forever.


	6. Miscalculations

Author's Note: Sorry this is so long in coming! Since my last update I've moved, gone back to school and gotten really busy with homework and stuff. I'd really like to continue this story (I have it all planned out now), so I'll try to get updates up at fairly regular intervals. Enjoy!

* * *

In the hallway, Hermione slumped against the wall. She felt her heart beating faster than it normally did, yet she had no inclination to move at all. This was not what she had envisioned for this visit to the ministry. The irrational side of her brain was still holding out hope for a clean break—a divorce, an annulment, anything—so she could go back to the life she had so meticulously planned for herself. The feeling that invaded her mind now, it forced its way in like a masked robber, depriving her of all possible happiness. Even the sight of him leaning gracefully against the opposite wall, the cut of his jacket perfectly accentuating his slim hips, his perfect lips—what was she thinking?! He would _never _make her happy. He was what got her into this mess in the first place.

"What did I do now?" Draco's genuinely puzzled face made Hermione realized that she had been glaring at him. He slid down the wall until he was sitting across from her, looking exceptionally calm and vulnerable.

Hermione softened her gaze, but still stared intently into his face. "You don't seem particularly devastated that we're stuck being married," she stated simply. She was drawing little circles in the dust near the floorboards, over and over. She suddenly felt like a young teenager, completely unsure of what to think and what to do, utterly awkward in front of the opposite sex.

"Well," Draco said, sliding across the hallway to sit next to her, "I'm not. I think I made that clear earlier."

"But that doesn't make sense," Hermione said. She raised her head to look him in the face, her eyes full of questions. "You hated in at Hogwarts. You went out of your way to make me miserable, because I have Muggle parents. And I'm friends with Harry Potter. I know you gave me that whole explanation of your loyalties now, but that still doesn't explain…me."

Draco smirked. "I think you made a big miscalculation," he said in a slightly superior tone.

"What do you mean?"_I don't make mistakes_, Hermione thought.

"I'll be blunt. You are wrong."

"What do you mean?" Hermione repeated, growing more irritated by the second.

"You said I hated you."

"Yes. You do."

Draco shook his head, a bemused smile on his face.

"You don't hate me?" Hermione was puzzled now, alert and leaning into Draco, as if pressing him for answers.

"No, Hermione. I do not hate you. I never have."

"Then all that torture…"

"It was to please my dad, mostly," Draco explained. "He wanted me to get to Harry any way possible, and you seemed like one of the best ways. Gryffindors are chivalrous and everything, you know."

Hermione stared at him. "If you don't hate me, then…"

"I love you, yes." Draco grabbed Hermione's hand and held it gently, almost urgently.

"WHAT?!" Hermione shrieked, jumping to her feet. She paced the corridor, frenzied. "_Like_ I can deal with. _Admire_ I can deal with._Tolerate_ I can deal with. But _Love_? Are you out of your mind?"

Draco was on his feet; he grabbed Hermione's shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Hermione, let me explain."

"No!" Hermione wrestled out of his grip, backing across the hall. "Don't touch me!"

Draco stepped back, raising his hands in front of him in the gesture of surrender. This was not going how he'd planned it—and he didn't want to anger Hermione further.

Hermione, however, couldn't get much angrier. She looked incensed—even her hair seemed angry, rising like hissing snakes out of her head. She had backed farther down the hall to an alcove that held a statue of Baldric the Beheaded, and was crouched behind it, wand drawn, ready for battle.

"_Stupefy_!" Hermione cried wildly.

Draco moved quickly, ducking to one side of the hallway. He scrambled, searching for his wand in the inner pockets of his robe.

At the other end of the hall, Hermione rallied. "_Stupefy_!" She said again.

Draco quickly released a shield charm as he flicked out his wand. Hermione had moved out from behind the statue to run down the hall, right into the path of the ricocheting curse. To the amazement of both wizards, the curse bounced away in front of Hermione, jetting harmlessly into a tapestry.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, momentarily stunned out of anger. "I didn't make a shield charm," she said.

"I know," he said.

"What just happened?"

"I have no idea." Draco shook his head with bewilderment. "Maybe you should research it or something."

"What? Me do all the work?" Anger flared back in Hermione's eyes. "Of course, it's my job to know _everything_. Except, obviously, that you _loooove _me."

Draco looked behind him, looking for any possible cover. There was none. When he looked back, Hermione had conjured a flock of angry-looking birds, which were flying over her head in attack formation. "Hermione, please," Draco pleaded.

"_Oppugno_!" Hermione yelled, sending the birds pelting toward Draco's head. He instinctively put his arms up to cover his face as the birds pecked at his skull, pulling his hair and diving for his eyes. Tiny beaks pecked him everywhere, like a plate-glass window shattering over his head.

Hermione, instead of looking triumphant or crafting her next move, was writhing as though pricked by hundreds of tiny pins. "Ow! Draco! Make it stop," she cried, trying to brush off her invisible attackers. "You're hurting me!"

"I'm not doing anything to you!" Draco's voice was muffled under his folded arms. His attempt to escape up the hallway had no effect on the divebombing birds. "Make these birds stop!"

Hermione, although her rage at Draco was furthered by her frenzied state, still hated to see anyone in pain, even if they were as odious to her as Draco was. "_Finite incantatem_," she whispered, and her pinpricks stopped.

The birds around Draco's head had disappeared also. Draco put his arms down, smiling with relief. Although, that didn't last long, as Hermione marched toward him. She poked him in the chest with her wand.

"You!" She shrieked, poking him harder. "What was that spell you used?"

"I didn't use any spell," Draco replied.

"Yes, you did. You were hurting me," Hermione shot back. "What was it?"

"I didn't use any spell," Draco said, straightening up. "But I have an idea what may have happened."

"Well, what was it?" Hermione's eyes showed impatience as well as anger now.

Draco raised his wand.

"What are you doing?!"

"_Stupefy_!" He said.

The world went black for both of them.


	7. Truce

Author's Note: Hi everyone, I completely lied to you. I do have the story all planned out, but I got completely distracted. Sorry this update took so long. Here's the next chapter, and I'll do my best to finish it quickly.

* * *

When Hermione woke, she felt like she was lying on a cloud. Sunlight filtered softly on her hair, warming her face. An angel was hovering over her, soft and golden and radiating love. Hermione blinked, hoping to focus her hallucination. Had she died and gone to heaven? She had never seen a human form so perfect. The sleek blonde hair, the gray eyes, the pale pointed face….in short, Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy?!

Hermione drew breath sharply, pressing back against the sofa on which she lay. Someone must have taken her back to the Burrow after the catastrophe at the Ministry. She must have passed out, or maybe hyperventilated. There was no other explanation for what had happened

And then there was the problem of this hallucination. When had Draco Malfoy started looking like an angel? Hermione started to sit up, but a hand grasped her shoulder gently, forcing her to lie back again.

"You really shouldn't get up too quickly. You hit your head pretty hard when you went down." A smooth voice emanated from the hallucination that was supposed to be Draco Malfoy. "You have a concussion."

Hermione grimaced. "You—you attacked me."

"No, I didn't. If you remember correctly, _you_ attacked _me_. I think the spell rebounded on you, part of the contract of this marriage." Draco was coming into focus now, looking less and less heavenly as the soft blur dissipated. He shifted her legs over to sit down on the sofa. "Remember when you were getting all the pinpricks after you sicced the birds on me? I think every malicious spell you cast on me rebounds somehow, but lesser. It's some sort of prevention for domestic violence or something."

"That's unfortunate. But it makes sense, unfortunately." Hermione hated hearing this new information, but knew he was right. "I think that means that if I kill you, I get ripped in half or something."

Draco laughed.

"What, it's true, isn't it?" Hermione protested. "I'm serious. I don't want to be married to you." Hermione ignored Draco's protests and pushed herself up to a sitting position. She glared at him. "But don't worry. I won't kill you anytime soon. I couldn't cause Ron that much pain."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Hermione was just beginning to come to grips with the fact that she really and truly was married to Draco. All of her plans for little ginger babies had shattered overnight, leaving her instead with a bleak vision of the future dominated by this blonde brute. But hurting Ron…she could never do that.

"Does that mean we're at a truce?" Draco looked uncomfortable, unwilling to meet Hermione's eyes.

"Yes, I suppose so," Hermione replied. "I really can't think of any other options right now."

"Good. I'll go get the Weasleys so we can explain. I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary." Draco stood and strode quickly towards the door.

"Wait," Hermione called. "Do we have to tell them? I mean, I have to tell Ron, of course, and Ginny, but surely they can tell the rest of the family. I don't think I can face Molly right now."

She was too late. Draco had already shouted across the hallway into the kitchen where Ginny and Mrs Weasley sat waiting. Molly wasted no time in rounding up the rest of her family, eager to hear the news about what had transpired at the Ministry.

The entire family crowded into the room, filling up every available seat. Draco moved to stand behind the couch, while Ron sat next to her. Harry stood near the window, suspecting from Hermione's face that the news was not good.

"So," Mrs Weasley said, "What do you have to tell us? Is the marriage off?"

Hermione looked up at Draco, willing him to speak first.

He cleared his throat.

"Well," he said, "We looked in to every available option at the Ministry."

He paused, clearly not wanting to proceed.

Mrs Weasley looked at him expectantly.

"And?" She prompted, looking a little less hopeful than before.

"There's nothing we can do. The marriage is permanent." How Draco was able to keep his composure under the steely glares from the entire Weasley clan, Hermione didn't know.

Ginny gasped. Mrs Weasley had turned white, her pallor shocking against the brilliant red of her hair. George shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Is this true, Hermione?" Ginny reached for Hermione's hand; her own was shaking slightly.

Hermione forced herself to look Ron in the face as she gripped Ginny's fingers. "Yes," she whispered. Tears glimmered in her eyes.

Ron stood up abruptly and strode out of the room. Harry turned from the window, gave Ginny a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried after him. Hermione could see the pair of them almost running across the garden, stepping over the wall and into the woods behind the Burrow.

Hermione tried to wipe the tears off her cheeks, but they were pouring too fast for her to effectively wipe on her sleeve. She made a move to get off the sofa to look for a handkerchief, when one was lowered into her hand. It was perfect, absorbent and perfectly starched white, not like any one of the Weasley's. A monogram caught her eye—a green, serpentine M.

Hermione looked up.

"I hate to have to say this, Hermione," Draco said, "But I think we should go break the news to my parents."


	8. Icy Reception

Author's Note: Thanks to everybody who has commented. You guys are awesome! I never thought this many people would like this story. I apologize if Draco sounds too much like Edward Cullen; _Twilight _has eaten my brain lately. This chapter was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Malfoy Manor stood huge and forbidding at the end of a long drive. Hermione was sure that Lucius had built the drive longer than necessary to give people more time to psyche themselves out. But still, it didn't take her long to walk over the pale gray gravel and stand on the immense marble doorstep as Draco rang the bell.

"You know," Draco said, "It seems odd to be ringing the bell at my own home. But I guess it isn't my home anymore."

"Do I really have to be here?" Hermione shifted her weight nervously. Her past encounters with the Malfoys had been etched painfully in her memories; even though she'd tried for years to erase them, the word "mudblood" sometimes echoed in her thoughts. "I mean, do you even have to tell them now? We could wait until things have settled down a bit."

Draco straightened his tie, flicking his glance from the door knocker to his unwilling wife. "I'd rather just get it over with, to be honest. I rarely talk to them anyway, so the sooner this is done, the sooner we can get back to our comfortable silence."

"Will they even let me in the house? You know how they are about…people like me."

"Don't worry about anything," Draco replied. Hermione wasn't sure if he was worried more about her or the rebound spells he would be feeling, but the thought comforted her. Draco didn't want to get hurt any more than she did. "Besides, they respect ancient wizarding law, which you followed to the letter. They really have no choice."

Just then the door cracked open, to reveal a petite blonde girl in an old-fashioned maid's uniform. She quirked her head to the side, saying "Can I help you?"

"I've come to see my parents," Draco said striding into the house, "Please tell them I'll be waiting in the drawing room."

"Erm, yes sir," the maid said. "I will directly." She scurried up a huge marble staircase, looking rather flustered.

"Did you tell them we were coming?" Hermione's voice was this with tension.

"No. There wasn't time. And apparently they didn't tell their new maid they have a son."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle softly.

Draco guided her to a pair of polished mahogany doors, magnificently carved with a family tree. He pushed one open, leading her into a long room flanked by a bank of windows on one side and a giant fireplace on the other. The room was furnished in various shades of gray, with plush couches and low tables scattered everywhere.

The two sat on a sofa near the windows, where they could look out onto the magnificent front lawn. Hermione was dazzled by the array of exotic plants that were cultivated there, presumably by magic. In the shadow of a Bird of Paradise, she saw an albino peacock preening its shimmering feathers.

The scrape of a door opening caught her attention. She looked up to find the very forbidding figures of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius strode forward in dark robes, his mouth a hard line. Narcissa, in pale green, looked just as hard, but her eyes betrayed some affection for her only son. Draco rose when the pair reached the sofa.

"Mother," He nodded, "Father."

"Sit down, son." Lucius practically sneered. "What brings you here with this…woman?"

As she sank into the plush cushions, Narcissa breathed "Hello, Draco," so softly that Hermione wasn't sure she had heard correctly.

"Please don't interrupt until I've finished," Draco began. "You won't like some of what I'm saying, but I beg you to be gracious. This weekend I found myself accidentally married to Hermione. It wasn't a planned thing at all, I can tell you. She is most anxious to get the marriage annulled. However, when we inquired at the Ministry this morning, we were told that because of the ancient and binding magical contract Hermione had chosen, annulment or divorce is not an option. So, please meet your new daughter in law."

Silence met the end of Draco's story. Hermione sat quiet, unwilling to make any movements that might call attention to herself, her eyes flicking between the two solemn figures opposite. She couldn't tell what either was thinking, and it was making her nervous.

Draco cleared his throat, but he made no other effort to break the silence that was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

Hermione really didn't want to say anything until she could gauge the reaction of her new in-laws. In fact, she really wasn't sure what to say at all.

The silence continued.

Finally, Lucius shifted forward. Giving his son an icy stare, he turned to Hermione and said "Congratulations on your marriage, Miss Gra—Hermione." He pronounced her name in distinct syllables, like it was in a foreign language.

Hermione forced a smile. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy," she said.

"Please," Lucius said with obvious formality, "Call me Lucius."

Narcissa leaned forward with a steely smile on her face, grasped Hermione's hand. "Welcome to the family, darling."

"Thank you," Hermione nodded. "I'm happy to be a part of such an—er, ancient family." It was such an obvious statement, she knew, and only served to point out the ever-obvious fact that she was muggleborn, but it was the best she could come up with.

Turning swiftly, Narcissa spoke softly in her husband's ear. He listened intently, and nodded. Abruptly, Narcissa stood up and motioned for Hermione to follow her. Dumbstruck, Hermione did as she was told after a swift elbow in the ribs from Draco.

"Now that you're part of the family," Narcissa said as she swept up the staircase toward the second floor, "You must look and act the part. I trust you have the intelligence to carry out some very basic instructions."

"Erm, yes," Hermione said. She wondered what exactly being the wife of a Malfoy entailed. She hoped it didn't contain a lifetime of servitude.

Narcissa opened the door into an immense closet. It was bordered on two sides by racks of robes and clothes, all glittering in greens and blacks and whites. On the floor stood dozens of pairs of shoes, each of them encrusted in jewels. In lacquered tables along the walls were all sorts of jewelry, most of it diamond. Hermione gasped. She had never been that interested in clothes, but the sheer magnificence of this room was impossible to ignore.

"A Malfoy bride never starts out with nothing," Narcissa said without relish, "so you must be outfitted with the proper accoutrements of one befitting your station. I can provide you with the basis for a wardrobe, provided that you agree to pass it on to your children when the time is right."

Hermione hadn't even thought about the possibility of children, so horrified was she at the prospect of merely being married to a Malfoy. She nodded slowly.

Narcissa moved swiftly among the racks of clothing, selecting various pieces and placing them on an empty rack. "Try these on," she commanded, "and our house elf will make alterations."

Hermione did as she was told, trying on everything from dazzling evening gowns to terrycloth robes. Narcissa kept adding piece after piece to the rack, until Hermione could no longer comprehend how many things she had tried on. Then came a pile of shoes, most of which had heels so high Hermione was absolutely sure she would never wear them anywhere.

"Now," Narcissa said, "You must have a ring." She moved to a table near the window, which was filled with rings of all shapes and sizes. Hermione was fascinated in particular by one that was formed by a silver snake that would wrap around a finger, with sparkling emeralds for eyes. However, the ring that Narcissa chose was much less Slytherin. The band was gold, with an oval diamond surrounded by a field of tiny emeralds. It almost looked like the diamond was dancing in a field of green. It fit perfectly on Hermione's finger.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. "This is much too expensive for me"

"Don't be silly, girl." Narcissa had moved to a different table. "You are not special. Be happy you married a Malfoy, otherwise riches this great would only be a dream."

From the new table, Narcissa chose a web-like diamond necklace and various silver bangles. She dropped them into a black velvet bag with a silver monogrammed crest.

Without taking a breath, Narcissa strode out of the room. Hermione followed, not knowing what else to do. She found Narcissa in a small bathroom, looking through a cupboard filled with various beauty potions. She selected a few, and dropped them into a silvery bag.

"Use these on your hair. Malfoy women always have impeccable hair, not that…mess you have on your head." Narcissa was struggling to keep polite. "You must pay more attention to your grooming, of course, and try dearly not to let your blood show." Narcissa penned the name of a salon onto a piece of scented stationary and gave it to Hermione. "You must get to this salon post-haste. I'll have your wardrobe sent to you."

Hermione was suddenly alone with her potions and jewels. _I wonder if being a Malfoy woman is always this lonely_, she thought.

She met Draco in the main entrance hall, and shot him a look that said "Leave. Now." Neither Lucius nor Narcissa were in sight, so Draco quickly opened the main doors.

"What did you do while I was with your mother?" Hermione asked, suddenly curious.

"Father took me to break the news to Pansy Parkinson," Draco answered. As he shuddered, he turned his head. Hermione could see on his cheek this distinct outline of where a woman had slapped him. "I never want to do that again."

* * *

Coming up next: Ron! And spiders! Don't change that channel!


	9. Aftermath in the Garden

Hermione paused at the doorstep to the Burrow, turning to face Draco. "Thanks for bringing me here," she said. "Will you please leave me alone now?"

"Yes, I will. Thank you for letting me take you somewhere safe. You're still looking pretty shaky." Draco shifted the load of petticoats and shoeboxes in his arms to shove open the door. "Plus, I don't think you could've handled all this by yourself."

"True," Hermione laughed weakly. "Your mother loaded me up with so much frou-fra I don't have any idea what to do with it. But you don't have to be such a gentleman."

Draco dropped his load just inside the hallway. "Well, I wouldn't call this being a gentleman. I just want to get to somewhere where you can't hurt yourself too badly--wouldn't want to mess up this beautiful face, now would I?" Draco smirked, backing down the steps and into the garden.

"Don't do anything stupid yourself," Hermione called, watching Draco slip stealthily down the garden path. The sun had drawn low in the sky—the visit to the Malfoys had taken much longer than she had realized—and the rays made Draco's head look as if it was on fire. Hermione wished it could be the case, but in the back of her mind knew that it would be torture for her too. Plus, it would be a pity to disfigure that perfect willowy frame, with long sinuous muscles twining down perfectly toned arms to hands that—

"Hermione, you're back!" Ginny bounded down the stairs, her face a mixture of excitement to see her friend and trepidation as to the state said friend would be in. "And you have baggage."

"Oh, right," Hermione turned her attention back into the house. "Yes, Mrs Malfoy gave me a lecture on how to be a proper Malfoy lady, complete with bonus jewels and dresses that are only fit for Halloween costumes."

"But they're so sparkly," Ginny had by now picked up a pile of dresses and was carefully maneuvering the stairs to her bedroom. "You will let me try some on, right?"

"Of course," Hermione replied. "I might even let you keep one. Just to spite Mrs Malfoy—Narcissa— and her inheritance charts." She set her load on Ginny's bed and looked out the window. The sky was growing darker, but the remnants of glimmering fire were still lingering in the clouds, much like the fire in Draco's eyes when he had looked at her—Hermione whirled away from the window. "Where are we going to put all this stuff?"

Ginny was sorting the dresses by color, back in one pile, green in the other. "I don't know, maybe your old school trunk? We can enchant it so it's bigger inside. I wouldn't want to crush these dresses," Ginny said, stroking a particularly silky white satin negligee. "Malfoy's mum sure thought of everything."

Hermione glared at her. "Like that'll ever happen. Draco's a loathsome little toad, even if he does insist on being a gentleman through all of this." She sat down with her back to the bed, pulling idly at the carpet on the floor. "I still can't believe I'm married to _him_. Draco Malfoy, my childhood enemy."

Ginny sat down beside her. "I can't even imagine," she said. "But he's really being nice? I always thought he hated you."

"I guess not anymore." Hermione shrugged. "At the Ministry, he told me he loves me."

"No way." Ginny looked incredulous, an eyebrow raised. When Hermione continued staring at the floor, she continued. "Seriously?"

Hermione looked up, her eyes wild with bewilderment and sadness. "Yes," she said softly.

"He was serious," Ginny stated again, as if trying to wrap her head around the idea. "Did he explain why? Because I—we—always thought he hated you."

Settling back against the bed, Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I didn't really give him a chance to tell me anything. It was right after we'd gotten the news. I was a little dazed."

"You should definitely ask him about it sometime," Ginny said. "At least it'll give you two something to talk about."

"That's another thing! We don't have anything in common!" Hermione was getting worked up now, her gestures jerking around like baby birds. "It was all going to be perfect. I was going to marry Ron, and we were going to move into our own place, and I would go back to school—" She trailed off. "But now I'm married to a man who previously hated me, now loves me, and has the most gorgeous blond hair in the history of—what am I saying? Ginny! I've been thinking things about Draco lately—I've been finding him attractive! What is wrong with me?"

"Well, he is a rather attractive guy," Ginny said, contemplating. "I mean, for a guy who does no physical labor, he's got a pretty nice body. And his face isn't half bad when he smiles."

"That's not the point! I'm in love with Ron. What am I doing drooling over Draco?"

Ginny was stumped. "Um, you're married?" She giggled. "That's what married people do, you know."

Hermione shot her a suspicious look. "You're not married, last time I checked. How would _you_ know this?" She grinned when Ginny blushed.

"Well?" Hermione cocked her head expectantly, her grin spreading wider.

Ginny took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, when a flash of green light emanated from the vicinity of the garden, followed by a strange high-pitched shriek.

Hermione leaped off the bed and ran to the window, flung it open and peered out. Ginny followed, leaving the remaining dresses in shambles on the floor. "Oh," Hermione gasped. "Oh, no!" She looked like she couldn't quite decide between laughing and crying.

Ginny had no trouble deciding, and doubled over in laughter that she tried to stifle with her hands. She plopped onto the floor at the base of the window, gasping for air. Hermione still stood at the window, gasping at the scene before her.

Ron stood in the garden, brandishing his wand at a motley assortment of spiders and gnomes. A few black spiders had been hit with an enlarging spell, and struggled to retreat to the dark cracks between the stones. This was becoming increasingly difficult because the stones kept crumbling under the sparks from Ron's wand before they could get there. The gnomes lay sprawled in a line, like a petrified line of dominoes, terrified looks on their faces.

Wand waving wildly about, but with a tightly controlled look in his eyes, Ron stood amidst the chaos he had caused as if planning what to do next. He was completely oblivious to the possibility that anyone could be watching. A vein in his neck twitched.

Suddenly he turned and stalked toward the house, muttering. Just as suddenly, he whirled: he was pacing. Hermione thought she heard the word "Malfoy" just before he turned around.

She watched uneasily as Ron took out his fury on the unsuspecting inhabitants of the garden.

"REDUCTO!" He shouted, blowing a hole in the low stone wall, kicking at the rubble as it toppled to the ground. Whirling, he grabbed one of the petrified gnomes and swung it over his head, than flung it over the wall and into the meadow beyond with a grunt. Letting his wand fall, he grabbed two more gnomes and vaulted over the wall, running into the field like a banshee. Suddenly he stopped, turned, and hurled the two gnomes like javelins. They struck a fair distance away into a heap of compost, headfirst.

Running again, Ron pelted toward the broom shed, where he grabbed a pair of garden clippers. Furiously chomping their blades, he headed toward Arthur's prized Georgian Guarding Hedge, his mouth set in a tight line. Hermione could almost smell the anger and desperation coming off him in waves.

"Ron!" She yelled, trying to catch his attention. She waved, but futilely. Ron was intent on the hedge, and seemed to be looking at it much the way he had looked at Draco Malfoy that morning. "Ron, don't!"

Hermione tore herself away from the window and sprinted down the stairs. She nearly tripped over her feet on the third-floor landing, but managed to get down the entire flight in one piece and in record time. She burst out of the house, hair bobbing wildly behind, and launched herself at the hedge.

"Ron, don't!" She said, panting. "We'll find a way to fix this. We will, I promise."

Ron recoiled quickly when he realized it was Hermione who stood in the path of his clippers and not the hedge. He took a deep breath, flinching only slightly when Hermione gently grabbed his upper arms.

"You mean…" he trailed off, letting the clippers fall. "You mean you don't love him?"

"Love him?! Of course not!" Hermione was taken aback. She pulled him into a full embrace, but he was still reluctant. "I may have ended up married to the man, but trust me: I do NOT love him."

Ron huffed, controlling himself. He scrunched up his eyes, but brought his hands up to rest on Hermione's shoulders. "I mean, it's just that you look at him sometimes, look at him in this certain way…. We were getting married! We were supposed to be married!"

"I know, Ron. I hate it too," Hermione replied. "It's you who I want, not him. The marriage is just legal issues we need to work through. But I know we'll get it sorted soon." She knew she sounded uncertain, and that she was grasping at straws, but tried to make up for it in the intensity of her gaze.

"Hermione, I love you." Ron was holding her now.

"Oh, Ron," she breathed, nestling her forehead in the crook of his shoulder. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek, and was hit suddenly with the full realization of what life could be like without him—never again tracing her fingers over his freckles, never laugh at his jokes or pretend to laugh even when they weren't funny, never pack a picnic and hop on his broomstick for an afternoon in his newest favorite patch of woods. She lifted her head to look him in the eye. "I love you too."

And she kissed him, to prove it.

He responded quickly, holding her tighter, moving to stroke her face with his hands. She buried her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, losing herself in their shared feelings, reveling in his love for her and her love for him and her conviction that everything would turn out alright. Her head swam with the intensity of it; the sheer immensity built behind her eyes with overwhelming power and speed, growing deeper and shaper, throbbing and throbbing and building until it seemed to shatter her skull.

She staggered backward, clutching her head. Ron looked bewildered. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I—I don't know," Hermione said. She felt like there was a porcupine wedged down her throat, like her head was going to explode, and her lips felt like they would jump off her face to avoid the pain. "It hurts." She gasped, legs buckling under her.

Ron caught her just before she hit the ground, his arms burning into her body like fiery pokers.

"OW!" Hermione threw herself as far away from him as she could, onto a pile of sod. "Don't touch me!"

"What? Sweetheart, I though we were going to try to make this work," Ron sounded extremely confused, and rather put out.

"I—we were." Hermione doubled over, trying to regain her breath. "But when you touch me, it's like I'm going to self-destruct or burn to death or something."

"So you're allergic to me now?" Ron chuckled darkly.

"Oh, Ron. It's not you. I think it's _me_. Remember the provision for adultery we put in the marriage bonds? I think it just went into effect."

Ron moaned. "Oh no. The marriage bond thinks you're cheating. You're cheating on Malfoy, who _should_ have been me, with me. This is horrible."

Hermione sighed, and rolled onto her back, her hands above her head as if in surrender. "I don't know what we're going to do," she said. "I want this to work so badly. But I drew up the marriage contract so tight I can't even kiss my own fiancé."

There were many things that had Hermione confused—why she was finding Draco Malfoy so inexplicably attractive, how the marriage contract was so binding to someone not named in it, why it was becoming increasingly difficult to care about such tichy legal matters—but over one thing she was certain: this didn't bode well. It didn't bode well at all.


End file.
